the archivist

the archivist January 11, 2007

Edna St. Vincent Millay The Courage that My Mother Had The courage that my mother had Went with her, and is with her still: Rock from New England quarried; Now granite in a granite hill. The golden brooch my mother wore She left behind for me to wear; I have no thing I treasure more: […]

the archivist January 11, 2007

Thomas Moore Quick Quick! we have but a second, Fill round the cup while you may; For time, the churl, hath beckon’d, And we must away, away! Grasp the pleasure that’s flying, For oh, not Orpheus’ strain Could keep sweet hours from dying, Or charm them to life again. Then, quick! we have but a […]

the archivist January 11, 2007

The Indian Serenade Percy Bysshe Shelley I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Hath led me—who knows how? To thy chamber window, Sweet! The wandering […]

the archivist January 11, 2007

Somebody’s Song Dorothy Parker This is what I vow; He shall have my heart to keep, Sweetly will we stir and sleep, All the years, as now. Swift the measured sands may run; Love like this is never done; He and I are welded one: This is what I vow. This is what I pray: […]

the archivist January 11, 2007

Pictures in the Smoke Dorothy Parker Oh, gallant was the first love, and glittering and fine; The second love was water, in a clear white cup; The third love was his, and the fourth was mine; And after that, I always get them all mixed up.   The Portable Dorothy Parker

the archivist January 5, 2007

The Rose is Obsolete William Carlos Williams The rose is obsolete but each petal ends in an edge, the double facet cementing the grooved columns of air–The edge cuts without cutting meets–nothing–renews itself in metal or porcelain– whither? It ends– But if it ends the start is begun so that to engage roses becomes a […]

the archivist December 4, 2006

Hope Oliver Herford (1860-1935) I heard a bird sing In the dark of December A magical thing And sweet to remember. ‘We are nearer to Spring Than we were in September,’ I heard a bird sing In the dark of December.

the archivist December 3, 2006

Chicago Carl Sandburg Hog Butcher for the World, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler; Stormy, husky, brawling, City of the Big Shoulders: They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys. And […]

the archivist November 20, 2006

Renascence Edna St. Vincent Millay All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked the other way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back […]

the archivist July 25, 2006

when serpents bargain e.e. cummings when serpents bargain for the right to squirm and the sun strikes to gain a living wage– when thorns regard their roses with alarm and rainbows are insured against old age when every thrush may sing no new moon in if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice –and any […]

the archivist July 25, 2006

My Little March Girl Paul Laurence Dunbar Wind-blown and rosy, my little March girl. Hint of the violet’s delicate bloom, Hint of the rose’s pervading perfume! How can the wind help from kissing her face,— Wrapping her round in his stormy embrace? But still serenely she laughs at his rout, She is the victor who […]

the archivist July 19, 2006

The Soldier Rupert Brooke If I should die, think only this of me: That there’s some corner of a foreign field That is forever England.  There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam. A […]

the archivist July 19, 2006

A Psalm of Life What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist Henry Wadsworth Longfellow TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!— For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not […]

the archivist July 18, 2006

379. Song—Fragment—Love for love Robert Burns ITHERS seek they ken na what, Features, carriage, and a’ that; Gie me love in her I court, Love to love maks a’ the sport. Let love sparkle in her e’e; Let her lo’e nae man but me; That’s the tocher-gude I prize, There the luver’s treasure lies.

the archivist July 15, 2006

THE UNKNOWN CITIZEN (To JS/07/M/378 This Marble Monument Is Erected by the State) W.H. Auden He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be One against whom there was no official complaint, And all the reports of his conduct agree That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned term, he was a saint, For […]